


What George Has Done For Food

by thekingofbottomlennonfics



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Cheeseburgers, Facials, First Time Blow Jobs, Food, Food Kink, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Multi, Prostitution, Rimming, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-27 02:08:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30115527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekingofbottomlennonfics/pseuds/thekingofbottomlennonfics
Summary: Um y'know I see so many pictures of George eating, and jokes about it being all he does, and yeah lol I'm pretty sure he ate more than he breathed.So I turned it sexual. Put Food Kink in the tags not because it is used in the bedroom, but because George isn't attracted to the boys, just the food.Oh yeah, and the last one isn't smut bc L E N N I S O N
Relationships: George Harrison/Everyone, George Harrison/John Lennon, George Harrison/Paul McCartney, George Harrison/Ringo Starr
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. Rigno Stone

**Author's Note:**

> Joj lets Rigno in his ass for a burger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George lets Ringo fuck him for a burger.

"Seriously, George, we don't have the time." Paul sighed from the front of the cab. George groaned, and pouted, pressing his cheek up against the glass window by his side.

"But-"

"No buts, they said 7:30, we're. Getting. There. On. Time." John made sure to punctuate each word with a pause, to emphasize the importance. However, George saw no importance in this! They were going to be there by 7, by the looks of it, and the show started at eight pm! He made another whine of complaint.

"Ritch? Would you take me to get dinner?" George asked, glancing back to their oldest band mate.

Ringo grinned, smug with some joke, and George turned his head away in disappointment, "Yeah, if you let me fuck you." John burst out into a fit of his iconic cackles, and Paul covered his mouth to prevent laughter.

"Ritchie!" He admonished.

"Rings, your humor is broken, and it's wonderful." John sighed, patting Ringo on the shoulder, who simply chuckled.

"Who says it's a joke?" They all laughed again. Except George. He silently pouted looking out the window at the city they had to be in for the televised interview.

As they got there, George walked in, already in a sour mood. As he predicted, they were early. He fell down onto the couch in the waiting room with a groan, as the others politely sat down next to him. George's stomach was rumbling so much, churning to the point it almost sounded like an engine revving. Honestly, if they had to do an interview, he hoped it would grumble the whole time, and be disruptive. It wouldn't even embarass him, because he was too mad at the others.

"Seriously? There's enough time to go get food right now!" George complained, using broad gestures to the empty waiting room they were in.

"Eyy Ringo's offer from before still stands, right Ritch?" John joked, and wiggle his bushy brows at the big nosed drummer, who just laughed.

"Honestly, I'd fight God for a burger right now." George groaned, squirming a little in his seat when his stomach growled again. Ringo rolled his vividly blue eyes, and stood up, holding out a hand to gesture for George to come with.

"C'mon George, let's get one." Ringo sighed.

"Wait, so you're gonna fuck now?" Paul asked, an awkward smile complacent on his face. He kept the blank look, and blinked at them several times, obviously concerned. George got up, and shrugged, taking Ringo's arm, and following him out of the waiting room. John's mad cackling could be heard even through the walls, and Paul was yelling at him that it wasn't funny, and something about being very concerned for George's safety, and life decisions. George honestly couldn't care less.

"So! Ritch! Funny joke about fucking me there." George snickered, "John seemed to get a kick out of it."

"Joke? Oh- now that's a funny one, George, but I was serious." Ringo smirked, and George was suddenly letting go of his arm, and glancing to him with wide eyes.

"You're serious?" George asked, absolutely flabbergasted. There was no better adjective to describe the shock that raked through him when Ringo nodded this time. George stopped to consider, before he was glancing around, and dragging Ringo into a closet.

"Well, I saw a place nearby on the way here, so there's enough time..." George muttered, "Anything for something to eat right now."

"That's right George. I'll pay for all you want to eat there, too." Ringo grinned, and flashed George a thumbs up.

"Seriously?! This is a good deal!" George cheered, popping the buttoms of Ringo's shirt.

"But we gotta be quiet." Ringo muttered, just as a voice or two was heard passing by. George reached over, and locked the door, but resumed his task at hand, unzipping Ringo's trousers, and shoving them down without much regard for it. Sure, this was the first time he'd be doing anything like this with a man, and George was sure he could say the same for Ringo, but it was all much more enthusiastic when he was getting _FOOD_.

"Hold on George, did I say you were topping?" Ringo gripped his wirsts, and George stopped moving, barely able to see his older friend's face in the darkness of the closet. Before George knew it, he was bent over some shelf, accidentally knocking over a few cleaning products, and scrambling to make sure they didn't fall on the floor. Ringo didn't pay it much mind, however, yanking George's trousers down as if it were nothing.

"R-Ritchie? In't this going a bit fast?"

"You said you'd fight God for a burger. You want food, or what?" Ringo's low voice replied, and George chuckled.

"Don't ask questions you already know the answer to." George smirked, and his y-fronts were yanked down, too, "Just... This is my first time with a guy like that, so uh-"

"Makes sense. Since you don't know what's going on, I'll tell you. I'm preparing your ass for me, alright? This _may_ take a while." Ringo explained. George gave an affirmative hum, and before he knew it, Ringo's warm breath was on his asscheeks, his just as warm hands pulling them apart.

George flinched when a warm, wet appendage dove between the bony mouns of flesh, and pushed forward. It circled around his hole slowly, and George gripped around his space on the metal shelf. It was cold, and it dug into him, but it was all he had to hold onto as Ringo's tongue pushed forward. It dipped slightly past the ring of muscle, and George was getting really caught up in the moment. He felt everything, and nothing at the same time, and it was so _strange._

Ringo sucked around the rim a little, and George gasped. He wasn't hard yet, or anything, but it was new, and not quite unpleasant. It felt fine, but none of this anal play would likely make him come. And George didn't have the desire to, just the desire to eat. God, that would just as good as an orgasm at that point.

Something cold, and slick slowly slid into the space where Ringo's tongue still gently loosened it, and George felt a light sting, cussing to himself, as another one slid in. Through the rings, George recognized Ringo's fingers, and squirmed a little. George stiffled a pained groan, and focused on the patterns of the white painted brick wall in the dim room. Ringo's thick fingers gently pulled, and soothed around his insides, and the sensation couldn't be stranger.

It was like being split open, but now that the pain had gone, like being pulled apart without the pain. George felt every little twist, and movement, and his legs bent up, and banged his knees into the shelf when Ringo began scizzoring him. George heard the strange wet squelching, and slurping down behind him, slicing through the almost deafening silence of the cleaning closet.

"This might take a while." Ringo muttered, and pushed his fingers deeper down to the knuckle. It was almost _too_ deep, and George squirmed around again.

"Relax, or this will take even longer, _and_ hurt." Ringo warned George, who forced himself to relax. Ringo hummed, satisfied with that result. George bit his bottom lip, as more lubricant was added, and a third finger slid in. Christ, how big _was_ Ringo?! George swallowed thickly, wondering how that would feel, and being mildly concerned about it. _Mildly_ , because even with his concern, George would think of a deliciously juicy burger in his mouth, and grin stupidly to himself.

Ringo was rubbing around his insides again, just a bit, before pulling his fingers out of George. That, by far, felt the weirdest. The dragging outwards, the rings catching on his rim a bit awkwardly, and suddenly being so empty. George clenched around just about nothing, but he heard the shorter man stand up behind him, and more wet stroking. George could only assume one thing, and that was confirmed when something kind of mushy rubbed around his asshole.

Ringo gripped his George's with a free hand, and warned him, "I'm going in." George hummed, and gasped as Ringo pushed the tip of his cock past the first ring of muscle. Slow, and gentle, just like his tongue- not to mention _warm_ , too. George felt the sting shoot straight up his spine with a gasp, as Ringo pushed even more in.

"Shit- there better be no food limit after this," George gasped out, and Ringo rubbed a hand around his upper back. George took a moment for a breather, gripping the sides of the cool metal shelf again. It gently scrapes his hands, and George nearly jumped out of his skin when Ringo's hips stuttered slightly.

"I'm gonna move..." Ringo let out a husky breath. George groaned, and nodded, but flinched when Ringo slowly ground his hips forward. Okay, so it wasn't _horrible_ , but it wasn't _good_. George could only make a muffled whimpering sound, as Ringo slowly picked up the pace.

"That alright?" Ringo asked.

"Yeah, it's fine." George nodded, pushing some of his hair out of his face. He reached down, and wrapped a hand around his soft cock to distract himself a bit from the strange sensation. Ringo pulled almost all the way out, and smeared some lube onto his exposed length, before slamming back into George, who jolted forward with the force.

"Go, Ritchie. Set your own pace, I'll be alright." George looked back to try, and see the man, and Ringo grinned. His hair was in his face, undone from looking down at the point of interest in their connection. In the dark, George watched amusement gleam in Ringo's haunting, blue eyes, and suddenly feared for the well-being of his ass. And that was when Ringo began pounding him. George squeaked in surprise, and felt a bit of a sting as Ringo pushed forward, but it was very slight, and George began stroking himself to distract from the pain.

"You still sure, George?" Ringo asked, balls slapping against George's bony ass, and George stifled out a groan, and a breathy, "Yes." The answer was no, but food was driving him to great lengths that day, and George wouldn't care if Ringo murdered him in that cleaning closet, as long as he got _food._

"Good. Fuck, you're so tight..." Ringo groaned, and _somehow_ increased the spead that his hips were going. It was animalistic, and Ringo thrusted with reckless abandon for George's well-being. George supposed he agreed to this, annoyingly so, and pictured some crunchy chips, hot, and fresh out the fryer. With ketchup, or maybe barbeque. George could practically _smell_ them, but his train of thought was interrupted with a rumbly groan from Ringo, and a sharp bold of overwhelming pleasure through his body.

"Oh shit- do that agAIN!" George gasped when his request was obeyed before he even finished the sentence, and Ringo kept going, one bruising grip on his hips, and the opposite hand pressing down on the small of his back. George's knees knocked against each other, and Ringo was continuing to destroy him, but it wasn't as stramge anymore. George was biting his hand to keep quiet, tears streaming down his cheeks, and little puff, and whines escaping him on occasion.

"Good, isn't it? Now that I've found your prostate?"

"Yes-" George gasped after pulling his fist back out of his mouth, before shoving it back in with a particularly harsh thrust from Ringo. With a squeeze to his own cock, George was coming into his fisted hand with a throaty groan. Ringo didn't stop however, and George was gasping for air.

"Say you're my slut." Ringo growles.

"Ritch-"

"Say it." He ordered, low in George's ear.

"I-I'm your slut," George panted out, and drew out a moan, when he felt something pump into him. It was hot, and thick, felt like being filled with warm cream, and Ringo was down on his knees in a second, licking his own cum right out of George. George was panting, whiping his hand on a random wash cloth by one of the spray bottles without a regard for the poor cleaner who must have worked there.

Ringo put George's pants, and trousers back onto him, and did the same for himself, and they did their best to _straighten_ \- funny choice of words- out before leaving the closet.

.

George came back to the waiting room, with a grin, and to-go bags in his hands. John gaped, clearly amused, and Paul stared in absolute disappointment, and shock, unable to speak.

"Ritch paid for it all!" He cheered, sitting down on the couch carefull. And despite that, a sharp pain sill shot up his spine in tingles, and George flinched, and groaned. Ringo sat back down next to Paul, who stared at him in shock, too.

"What. The. Fuck?" Paul asked, putting his head in his hands, and George passed out food to everyone with a grin. John made no complaint, also happily unwrapping his sandwich. Everyone ate, and Paul stared at the wall, fucking _horrified_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paul don't be grossed out, you'll come around soon!


	2. Pol McCharmly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul pays for George's food when he forgets his wallet. George pays him back with a blow job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm making my case, and point that if you give George Harrison food, he'll literally commit murder for you.
> 
> Takes place in '67, because I wanted his sexy mustache to make an appearance!!!

George, and Paul walked down the sidewalk together, and George was just glad to have his friend actually talking to him. After the incident with letting Ringo fuck him for a burger, Paul was kind of horrofied at the prospect of it, and just couldn't talk to any of the band. John's rampant jokes about it didn't help Paul's shock. Especially the, "Paul McCartney; either homophobic, or jealous." John got slapped for that one. Ringo had laughed, and Paul threw a hotel soap bottle at him.

Eventually, Paul had either gotten curious, or missed his friend. Probably the latter, but Paul played it off like the former. Their conversation started again when Paul asked George about how they even made that happen, and George went into details that Paul was scared of. Paul didn't stop talking to him, though, and somehow that repaired the band's relationship again, which had been silent for two days. Because Paul was... _Paul_.

That was a while ago, however. _Actually,_ it was 3 years ago. It was '67 now, and The Beatles weren't really touring anymore, much to George's delight. They still spent a lot of time together, though, recording, and outside of that. Not being in confined spaces doesn't remove friendship, or the fact that someone was part of your youth!

They were headed to get some ice cream. It was a good passtime, and they were coming back from the studio a bit earlier that day.

"Uh.... What are you gonna get?" Paul asked. George thought for a moment.

"I dunno, what're you having?" He asked, turning back to the prettier man.

"I dunno either." Paul chuckled, and George laughed, too.

"Vanilla is a safe bet?"

"Eh, I was thinking chocolate." Paul shot a glance at George with his devastating hazel eyes. Maybe he didn't know they worked, or maybe he did, and that was why he stared expectantly at George.

"Chocolate then." George rolled his eyes, and Paul ordered, as George went to get out his wallet to pay for his own. As George shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark grey pinstriped pants, he found absolutely nothing. He tried to fish out at least a measly coin, but not a single _note_!

"Shit- forgot my wallet at home." George huffed.

"Don't worry, I got it." Paul replied, passing the cashier their amount due, and passing George his chocolate ice cream cone. George grinned, and joined Paul by one of the green painted, metal grated tables. George took a lick of the ice cream, enjoying the sweet flavour of the chocolate, and letting it melt on his tongue, and turn his mouth cold. It was a nice, breezy summer evening, and the sky was blue, and nearly cloudless. The day had been hot, but the wind was drying, and soothing their sweat away, ruffling up their dark hair.

"You're gonna have to pay me back for this ice cream, though." Paul chuckled.

"Yeah. Mouth off about it, and you'll get nothing." George teased, taking another lick from the ice cream cone.

"I dunno, I wouldn't question your loyalty." Paul thought for a moment, and then laughed, but lowered his voice, "Remember when you let Ritch fuck you for a burger."

"Yikes, how could I forget?" George sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, and Paul laughed.

"Yeah... Was it bad?" Paul asked.

"We already went into details, and I ended up scaring you off for like two days." George warned Paul, who hummed.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm just saying."

They finished their ice cream, and began walking back towards George's house. George unlocked the door, luckily bringing his keys. He let Paul into his home behind him, and then locked the door behind them. He remembered setting his wallet on the counter, and hurried toward it, snatching up a random one. However, he quickly realized who it belonged to.

"Shit, this is Pattie's." George set it down, "She must have taken mine on accident..."

"And? Take her money, and pay her back later."

"Are you kidding? I'm not taking money from my wife!"

Paul sighed, and face palmed, "Fine, blow me then." He spat. George felt his stomach sink, and griped his shirt tightly.

"Is- Is that a jab at me for the Ringo-burger thing, or-"

"No, I'm just mad. Why can't you just pay her back from yours when she gets home?" Paul sighed.

"Because I don't want to take her money." George affirmed.

"Alright then... So how long until she gets back?" Paul asked, sitting down on the couch. He grabbed the remote, and quickly switched on the TV, some nature documentary playing. George shrugged, sitting down next to him with a sigh. Paul groaned, and George watched him awkwardly drum his fingers on his knees, and glance to the door, and George a few times.

"Well... My other offer of payment _could_ work." Paul muttered. George groaned. _Again?_ Seriously, how many times is he going to have sex for food? Once is enough!

"Alright, fine, but you can't take forever." George warned, sliding off of the couch, and towards Paul. Paul hummed, and nodded spreading his knees far apart, gaze stuck on George.

 _Well,_ this one was kind of a first. George had never even considered having cock in his mouth before, but his slender hands surged forward anyway, spindly fingers pulling open the button, and sliding the zipper down. George tried to find the confidence that had happened when he let Ringo fuck him, so he pictured that delicious chocolate ice cream that Paul had _politely_ paid for.

George pulled Paul's length out, and it wasn't very impressive, but he began stroking him anyway. From what he knew, it would probably be best for Paul to be hard before he blew him. George tightened his fingers a little more, and Paul groaned, so he took that as a good sign, stroking, and studying Paul's reactions. George decided for the second time he _wasn't_ queer, and just liked food. Because food was amazing. And partially because if there was a God up there, he really liked seeing George grovel for it. (yo that's _me-_ )

George genty swiped his thumb over the head of Paul's cock, and it visibly hardened, and flushed. Paul was only capable of producing a chocked hum, before gripping George's longish, wavy hair.

"Get on with it, Harrison." He muttered, "Your wife could come back soon, right? I'm guessing she wouldn't like this."

Well, it wasn't like George hadn't cheated on her before, but it probably was a good idea to hurry up. George grasped the shaft, and leaned forward, giving an experimental, hesitant lick to the head. Paul hummed, and pushed his head forward a little more for encouragement. George growled in protest, but wrapped his lips around the head anyway, pulling them tight around Paul's cock too keep his teeth away from it.

"Don't be pissy George, _you're_ the one who forced this happen by not using your wife's money, damn it." Paul gave a breathy groan when George slowly moved his head forward, and back, dragging his tongue across the bottom. The salty taste was nothing pleasant, almost like pennies. When George took more in, it made him gag by laying on the back of his tongue, and touching his throat. George stroked what he couldn't reach, this being his first time sucking a cock, and all, and glanced up at Paul through his lashes to see if what he was doing was correct.

Paul glanced down at him, heavy lashes framing his slit eyes like black curtains. His plush lips were slightly parted, and he had one hand behind his head on the couch, the other still playing in George's hair. Paul wasn't too attractive with a small, dark mustache like that, but he sent George a signature, dazzling McCartney smile, and George was back to sucking his cock.

George still gripped Paul's thighs through his jeans, and used it as leverage to move faster, slowly picking up the pace. When George tongued around the slit on Paul's head, there was a buck of the man's hips, and a push straight down to the base. Sure, Paul wasn't even average, but nosing at the dark pubes, as the back hit his throat made George gag. He tried to pull back, but Paul kept him there by his hair for a moment longer.

George nearly pulled off when Paul released him, but decided to keep going, much to Paul's delight, judging by a groan. It almost annoyed George, but he thought of the chocolate ice cream once more, and just about rejoiced, sucking with even more vigour than before. Plus, the quicker Paul came, the quicker he could leave. Paul sighed, and laced both pale hands into George's hair.

"Heh, those are great reins to fuck your mouth with." Paul moaned. _What?_ George got his answer when Paul stood up, and thursted forward into his mouth. George gagged again, but did his best to keep his throat open for Paul. He kept his lips tight around his cock, and drug his tongue underneath, but Paul moved too fast for George go really do much. George's throat tried to close uncomfortably, and he kept fighting it. It was awkward, and there were tears streaming down his face. George gripped Paul's thighs even tighter, and felt a sense of relief when Paul moaned again, and something salty was smearing over his tongue.

That meant Paul was close! For some reason, George didn't really mind doing this anymore, however. Just paying back a friend, it wasn't a _bad_ idea to begin with. Sex, and food seemed to provide the same euphoric, stimulating feeling.

Paul's hips stuttered, and George forced him back onto the couch by his hips. Paul gave barely a protest, and continued to grip George's hair, as the obscene slurping filled the room just over the TV Paul had turned on earlier to kill time- seems they had a new way. George pulled back, and mouthed around Paul's mushy tip. It was salty, and weeping, and with one great suck from George, Paul was arching his hips up, cock out of George's mouth, and smearing spit, and precum onto his cheek.

"Soon, Geo." Paul sighed, ruffling his hair, "Thanks- you're a fast learner!"

"Shut the fuck up." George rolled his eyes, but he couldn't hold back the fond smirk. He stretched his lips around Paul's length again, and bobbed his head, and _sucked_ , and it seemed Paul was close again.

"Fuck- George, I'm coming!" Paul shouted, legs tensing around George's head, and George just gripped his thighs bruisingly in preperation. On a time where he pulled back, Paul's cock pulled back, and soon spilled right onto his cheek, chin, and down his neck. It smeared awkwardly in his dark mustache, like a strange, fucked up marble cake. Paul's warm cum slid down his cheek, chin, and surrounded his exposed collar bone. George actually remembered the term for that! " _A pearl neckless_ " rang John's fruity joking voice in his mind, and George was suddenly _very_ annoyed with Paul.

And then the door was being unlocked, and Paul was clean, and George was not, and Paul was running toward the back door, leaving George to deal with his cum facial _alone._

Oh, but not alone; with Pattie!

"Fuck..." George muttered, as the door opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this half on a road trip with my family, and half at home listening to 'I am The Globglogabgolab' on loop.


	3. Jhon Lemon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one actually has no smut :0 if you came for lennison, hi, I like lennison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sent one of the boys a link to this account, and he read the first chapter of this fic OUT LOUD to me over the phone. It was funny how disturbed he was, and I was embarassed, but it was 2 am, I think he forgot

_"So is that something you do now? You have sex with the guys for food?" Pattie asked blonde brows furrowed. It was a similar look of concern Paul had once given._

_"Well, I mean, It's only been twice, and I haven't been with John yet-"_

_Pattie put her head in her hands, immensely disappointed._

George followed John into his home, and John sighed, breaking the momentary silence first.

"So... Any suggestions for the White Album?" John continued, and George shrugged.

"Beats me- I like that Bungalow Bill bit you, and Paul got going so far." George remarked, "Wish I had more to do, though..." He was trying to drop the hint that he wanted more on the album.

"Yeah... Sorry about that." John shrugged, heading past the living room, and down another hallway. It didn't work. George followed him into his kitchen, where John seemed to be making some sort of soup. It was simmering in a pot on the stove, and John whiped a bit of spilt veritablss off of the counter just across from it, and into the trash can. George watched him whipe down the counters fully in silence, John's straw-like hair falling from behind his ears, and shielding his sharp profile. His hair needed a brush, and maybe a wash, but normally it was soft, and wavy.

"You ever thought about brushing that mop?" George quipped, and John laughed.

"I'll admit it hasn't crossed my mind." He retorted.

"John, mate, you're gonna get _dreads._ " George snickered. John rolled his eyes, and went to stir whatever soup he was cooking, and then the noodles boiling next to it.

"Yeah, and you? With how things are going, I wouldn't be surprised if your hair was at your waist next year." John huffed.

"Nah, Johnny, it'll be at me feet- I'll be like Rapunzel."

"Yeah, an _ugly_ Rapunzel." John snarked, "And with it's dragging on the floor, _you'll_ be the one with dreads."

"A walking mop." George added with a wide grin, and John just laughed, shaking his head.

"You wanna taste my food, or what?" John asked, turning with a wooden spoon in hand. George hummed, and moved over, slurping up the liquid, and just baout choking. His mouth burnt, and he shrieked, slapping the spoon out of John's hand, and to the floor.

"Damn it, Hazza!" John cussed, kneeling down to pick it up, and George tried, and failed to cool down his burnt tongue, by fanning it, inhaling air, and sticking it out.

"It burnt me fucking tongue!" George cursed loudly, and John groaned, tossing the spoon into the sink.

"Yeah, and? The mouth is the fastest healing part of the damn body!" John shouted. George opened the fridge, and took out a jug of water, and John passed him a glass, allowing the man to pour himself some water, before going to wash the dirtied wooden spoon. John wasn't happy, scowling, as he put a bit of soap on the blue dish sponge, and angrily scrubbed at the spoon, until it was foamy.

"Don't overreact, _Lenny_ , it's just a spoon." George huffed.

"You're one to talk about overreacting. You burnt your damn tongue, not lost a limb!" John lectured, and George found himself groaning. John quickly dried the spoon, and went back to watching the food. He turned down the pasta so it didn't boil over, and leaned against the stove top, glancing over at George, who was stupidly dipping his burnt tongue into the cold water. John snickered.

"What, do you want me to _kiss_ it better?" John teased, George just about choked on his chuckles, setting the water down on the counter.

John's soup was finally finished, and George sat down at the dinner table, and began eating, and John kind of just stared. It was awkward, and silent, and got George lost in his thoughts. Why had he even come here? Because things were lonely. Because maybe, _maybe_ if he was close enough with John, nice enoigh to John, then Lennon-McCartney would let him have more than one song on the damn album. And John's home was always open with mediocre food, and friendly insults, and stupid, pointless banter, whenever George felt sick of Pattie/ _needed sum fucc_.

"Oi, don't forget to blow this time." John reminded him. It caught George off guard for a moment, but as soon as he realized, he swallowed down the food, and laughed.

"Yeah, not after last time. You'll probably yell at me." George said in a matter-of-factly tone, and John rolled his eyes, sitting down on top of the other end of the table.

"Whatever, George. _You_ knocked down a perfectly good spoon. Don't forget that."

"Salty still? Be quiet about it already. Aren't you always saying to leave the past alone, or is that only when it works in _your_ favour?" George teased.

"Hey, only _I'm_ allowed to call me a hyprocrite!" John protested, and George laughed some more.

"Hush, you're too stupid." He shook his head.

"Shut me up, then." John wiggled his eyebrows, and then George stood up, and pulled him forward by the collar.

"Well... You did make me food." George grinned.

"Like how Ritchie, and Paul bought you food, huh?" John teased. George swallowed thickly, and tried to regain control fo the situation.

"Been gagging for your turn, ey?" George asked. John actually opened his mouth to answer, but George cut him off with a kiss, and it all came naturally from there. John parted his lips, and wrapped his arms around George's neck, and George leaned forward against the table, holding up his own wait with his hands resting on the edge. John's legs came around his waist with a whimper, as George bit his bottom lip. They pulled apart with a wet smack, and John leaning forward for more, but John stopped when George laughed at him.

"No, actually, I had my turn last week, and you, happily destroyed me to the point where it just stopped hurting this morning. _So_... I'm good." John chuckled, and George gave an embarassed little laugh, as John pushed some hair behind his ear, "Christ, lad, where'd your mustache go?"

"This thing called shaving, John. I know it may be a foreign concept to someone as slow as you-"

"Ow stop, my brain hurts already." John quickly cut him off, gave George another quick kiss. George pulled apart with a laugh, and they tried to kiss a gain, but the two couldn't stop grinnibg for a moment.

"Sorry to say this, lad, but you gotta go home." John sighed.

"Yeah, I know... See you tomorrow?" George asked, pulling away. His hands lingered around John's waist for a moment, and John sighed.

"Well, we're in the same band, remember?" John asked, and when George leaned in for a goodbye kiss, he was instead flicked in the forehead, "Fucking idiot."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LENNISON ENDGAME


End file.
